Home Truths
by shywr1ter
Summary: Christmas is a time for miracles, for family. The world may still be upside down for Tony DiNozzo, but deep down, he never stopped believing.
1. Chapter 1

**HOME TRUTHS**

 **One**

It had been a long time since Tony had been on a stake out, and even longer since he had been alone on one. Still, some things were so familiar that he fell into the old patterns almost without thinking. Pulling the rental up to the curb slowly, just out of the nearest streetlight's pool of light, close enough to watch for his target but far enough back that he should not be too obvious. Still, it was a quiet, established neighborhood; any car would be out of place and, to his subject, enough to raise his curiosity. He knew he should not stay long or he would draw concern, if not from his target, then, possibly, his neighbors.

 _Face it,_ a tiny internal voice, somewhere back in his more rational thoughts, prodded him. _That's really what you want, isn't it? To be made? Proof that some things don't change? That they never changed?_

As stakeouts went, especially for December, he'd been in luck. It could have been freezing and windy and he'd have been left shivering as he watched and waited, since the exhaust from a car left running would have given away the fact someone was inside the parked vehicle, and had it been cold enough, his body heat and breath after time would have drawn frost on the inside of the windows, also giving him away. But it was on the warm side this evening, the air moist, and the light fog bouncing off the streetlight's glare helped him blend into the night.

Out of habit, he glanced over to the passenger side for binoculars, immediately catching himself before moving – he hadn't brought any. He hadn't brought a camera so had no telephoto lens to use in a pinch.

 _Not exactly that kind of stake out, DiNozzo_ , he chided himself.

At the slip, his responsible side was again roused to wonder what he was doing – with _everything_ : what he was doing in the car on that street, at that moment; what he was doing here at all; what he was doing with his life. He didn't often have the luxury of self-doubt or self-pity these days, but when he could stop, and breathe, his thoughts were more bleak than those of the old Tony DoNozzo. He was chronically sleep deprived; too much had changed, too much was still new, too much still up in the air to let him sleep without waking every couple hours. Usually in the daytime he had to focus on what was at hand, take things one step at a time. Bigger picture stuff was pushed out of the way. But at night, when it was quiet and his mind's guard let down, memories – and questions – intruded.

So here he sat. After one spur of the moment choice led to another, then another, then another, this 'stakeout' became something he was compelled to do. He honestly wasn't sure what he hoped might happen, or what he wanted to hear. But this moment had irrationally become for him the one thing he needed to restore his faith in everything he had believed for so long.

 _He needed Leroy Jethro Gibbs to be the all-knowing, all-seeing larger than life force everyone believed him to be._

Suddenly acutely aware of the chill, and the quiet around him, and recognizing his actions for what they were, Tony felt his eyes sting with the loss and hurt that had slammed him full force not so many months ago, a dramatic final chapter to resolve the growing sense of being shut out from his team, and the distance and hopelessness that had begun seeping into his head over the past several years. He felt another wave of loss, recognizing that at that moment he was mourning less those people important to him who had actually died, and more the loss of the friendships and relationships he'd come to cherish, and the loss of that support and trust...

 _This was a bad idea_.

Tony recognized the childishness of his wish to return to the time things _had_ been as good as he remembered. It wasn't a new feeling for him by a long shot, and not the first "family" in his life he'd wanted to see back intact. He had worked to hide it from others in years past; he couldn't let his weaknesses show. But _this_ year – at this _time_ of year – it had all hit him so hard. Those early years after Ziva joined the team were not perfect by any stretch, but they'd all hit a rhythm and started to work as a team, which led to even better results and a more satisfied Boss. Even when rushed they could relax into the assurance that they had each other's back and their trust and support and respect, and that led them into being a family of sorts, with bonds tighter than most could know if connected only by blood ...

Tony knew he looked back to that time with selective amnesia, preferring to remember the best and to forgive the worst. He now knew, deep down, that there were secrets even then. Things wouldn't have unraveled as they had if the team's relationships among them had been as pure and strong as he'd liked to remember. But given his history, Tony knew that, at core, the mutual trust and respect he'd felt with each member of his team was absolute fact, and that counted more highly than anything in his book. He stubbornly gave them all benefit of the doubt, because he wanted to believe in the past as he chose to remember it.

And now ... it had all brought him back here to a quiet street in Alexandria at Christmas time. _Waiting for a Christmas miracle_ , he derided himself. He _needed_ just a small moment of normalcy and familiarity that, admittedly, had been missing for several years now, but he craved it this year so intensely it had brought him back from Paris to sit here, in the chill of the December evening. For the last eighteen Christmases, he had been with at least some of the team on Christmas Eve, even, occasionally, for all of Christmas day. Gibbs was always a part of that. So with all the Christmas carols and markets and messages of being with loved ones, and Tony's defenses lower than they had been in so long, he made his way back home to the District and this street and a time when things were making as much sense as they ever did and he felt he was living his life, not that he was just hanging on as it hurdled him forward into the unknown.

A sudden sound at the passenger side of the car had him instinctively reaching to the dash, where he would normally have his gun on stakeout – back when he carried a gun. The door he didn't remember leaving unlocked opened quietly, and, soundlessly, a man slipped into the passenger seat beside him.

 _He'd been made. And it meant that the universe was alright after all, didn't it? The Gut was still all knowing, all seeing._

Tony stared at the man he'd known for nearly two decades now, a man who, despite it all, he had admired more than he had anyone else close to him. And now that Gibbs was _here_ , appearing in Tony's rental right on cue, for that first moment Tony felt the overwhelming relief he had felt all those times, back when his Boss was there to get his back, and he knew he could trust things to work out alright. In the next moment, it occurred to Tony that he had not thought beyond this very moment, so had no clue as to how things should go. He had no idea what what to do or say. And having been caught sitting there, on Gibbs' house, it dawned on him that things could sour even further between them so very quickly ...

Gulping down all the uncertainty and emotion of the moment, Tony managed a grin and said quickly, "hey Boss."

* * *

 **A/N** : This started as a one shot, and as a one shot it's complete. However, in editing to post, it has spilled over a bit and became a Christmas season story along the way, so has been broken into parts to be posted over the holiday. This premise has been nagging me for a while now and as the holiday has allowed me some time to myself it got written. It's a completely selfish, ongoing effort to resolve for myself what happened slowly to damage the Gibbs-DiNozzo friendship over time. I still don't think I have resolved it in a way that satisfies me, but I keep trying.

For those waiting for me to update my WsIP, my apologies, and my thanks to those who keep sending reviews or notes asking me to get back to them. I have some chapters in progress to which I have been adding, but not enough yet to have a post-able chapter. If I could get a better handle on the team's unraveling and how to fix it things would go faster in those stories.


	2. Chapter 2

**HOME TRUTHS**

 _Tony stared at the man he'd known for nearly two decades now, a man who, despite it all, he had admired more than he had anyone else close to him. And now that Gibbs was here, appearing in Tony's rental right on cue, for that first moment Tony felt the overwhelming relief he had felt all those times, back when his Boss was there to get his back, and he knew he could trust things to work out alright. In the next moment, it occurred to Tony that he had not thought beyond this very moment, so had no clue as to how things should go. He had no idea what to do or say. And having been caught sitting there, on Gibbs' house, it dawned on him that things could sour even further between them so very quickly ..._

 _Gulping down all the uncertainty and emotion of the moment, Tony managed a grin and said quickly, "hey Boss."_

 **TWO**

"Not your..." Gibbs began, but his words died quietly, his sharp eyes taking in the man before him.

The silence in the car was electric, as moments ticked by, and even in the limited light Tony could see his mentor taking stock. The younger man was overwhelmed by the feeling that it had been years since Gibbs had really looked at him. Was it a trick of the light, or jet lag, or just his own, needy hope, that his expression carried a long absent look of concern he used to have for him, sometimes?

Gibbs finally drew a slow, steadying breath, and, as he spoke again, softly, Tony suddenly remembered when Gibbs spoke like this not only to victims needing his assurance, but to those entrusted to him on the job. "What are you doing here, DiNozzo?

* * *

Ever since the events of last May, Gibbs found himself marking time now as _before_ or _after_. The weeks leading up to it all had been brutal, and the weeks and months after – after the explosion, and Orli's stunning news, and DiNozzo's departure – came in waves. Less work, more work, they had all pressed forward. Half of them had been numb, he knew now, himself included, and as he slowly emerged from the anesthetic of denial and refusal to face reality, he found it was mid-summer, and the team of whom he had been so proud was reconstituted into a patchwork of skilled individuals who gave him a hard day's work but no more. And Tony was gone.

"The glue," Abby once called DiNozzo. "The wild card," Tony reportedly told Saleem. "His faithful St. Bernard," Gibbs himself had thrown out to him, mockingly. _Always deflecting, always underestimated. Always there to have his back, to be his voice of reason, to come up with answers no one else saw, to diffuse the wrath he hurled at the team during a tense case_. Tony had been gone before, even for weeks at a time, but always when Gibbs knew he was coming back. To Gibbs' chagrin as he thought about it now, he'd even taunted and badgered DiNozzo to leave, in the rougher recent times, thinking he meant it, but knowing deep down the man would not leave.

He'd always liked to think it was the Marines who invented "never leave a man behind." Turns out it was DiNozzo.

When he'd surfaced from the losses of that spring, Gibbs found that his team was fractured into two parts: those who knew Ziva and had worked with Tony almost as long as he had, and those who didn't. Tim, Abby, Duck and Palmer all gave him their best, every day, but clearly were still suffering the loss of both Ziva and Tony, and were struggling to get through the day without the buffer of DiNozzo's antics or insight or entertainment to ease the ire of a hot-headed Senior Agent, the daily, grisly reminders of the worst in people, or the long hours and truncated social lives. Worse, the newbies seemed clueless as to the impact and import Tony had on the team; they waved off his absence as if an email or quick Skype would put Abby right, or get Ducky back to business. And Bishop - she was an island, half in and half out, never having known DiNozzo in his full, unstifled glory but appreciative of his advice in the field.

They returned to duty after Thanksgiving and the team was still running on three legs, gamely trying but not there yet. McGee worked harder than ever, and fought to find his own way as a Senior Field Agent. Clearly taking some of Tony's examples to heart, he also had the good sense to use his own smarts and training, and never tried to just imitate the last SFA. He was efficient, dedicated, and responsible.

 _It wasn't McGee's fault that he wasn't DiNozzo_ , Gibbs reminded himself again.

Coming out of the elevator Gibbs looked around to see an empty bullpen, his team not due in for an hour. This week had him unsettled more and more, and he wasn't sure why. Even over the holiday he'd started feeling restless, like his gut was trying to tell him something. When his team all appeared in the bullpen the next Monday, safe and healthy, the feeling had not gone away, and Gibbs wondered if it was their lack of cohesion that was telling him he needed to step up and do something about it.

When he was honest with himself, Gibbs wasn't sure how to train a group like he had now to become a unit, without the endless drilling of a boot camp or the touchy-feely activities HR used to try forcing on them. None of the others had years of team experience that Tim had with him and DiNozzo, and even now his new additions fell back into old patterns that Gibbs had hoped would right themselves with being part of this team. It wasn't like they didn't have experience and training, but beyond the basics each had when they first signed on, they'd each worked solo in the field, and it was less investigation and more counter-intel.

 _They came in just as Ziva had._

 _But so had Bishop_ , Gibbs frowned to himself. The others didn't take this long to get with the program, did they? _Granted, Ziva had come onto a strong team, and found her place with their experienced, efficient example firmly in place. But she had learned early that investigation was different, and that she needed to step up to keep up - which she did._ Since Tony left, and Bishop was with Gibbs more than she had been before, Gibbs found himself bugged by her, never quite confident that he could rely on her to get his six, or that her reflexes and instincts would ever be more than about 80%. Given some of the really hare-brained choices she'd made since joining the team, he wondered why he hadn't pressed Vance to reassign her.

Gibbs threw empty his coffee cup at his wastebasket, hard, and recognized he was pissed at his team and himself and his gut – something was up; something was off; and he couldn't tell what it was. Well, yeah, his _team_ was off, but that wasn't what had his gut twinging. And he didn't know how to force the agents on his team to be a team if he didn't have one to show them. Even _that_ wasn't fool-proof, since Bishop had been on the team when Tony was still there and she hadn't picked up on the signals. If she hadn't when Tony was there to coach her, Gibbs doubted that she would now.

 _She should go back to riding a desk_ , Gibbs growled to himself yet again. _Or better yet_ _– the damn floor._

* * *

Tony blinked back at Gibbs, wondering if he had heard his tone right, and trying to think of what he could say not to ruin things if he had. "It's Christmas," he finally shrugged. "I realized that I hadn't been anywhere else but here for Christmas since I moved here from Baltimore, and ..." He tried for casual, but his eyes were searching Gibbs' face for a clue to what was going on inside the man's head. "I thought you might be here, too."

The DiNozzo before him was thinner than he'd been when Gibbs had last seen him, in May; he looked tired and, though it might have been the effect of the streetlight, paler than usual. His smile hadn't faded, but it hadn't reached his eyes, either. He wasn't lying, but wasn't telling the whole truth. Bottom line, though, Gibbs realized, feeling an odd lump in his throat, DiNozzo was _here_ , trying to get his six. Gibbs saw some uncertainty in Tony's eyes now, too. _Understandable_ , _given the way things had gone the last dozen times or so that his SFA had shown up here, trying to figure out what was going on with his boss_. Apparently, too, DiNozzo hadn't expected him to just plop down in his passenger seat.

Gibbs suddenly grunted softly as it finally dawned on him. "Shoulda known," he said ruefully, watching Tony's surprise increase at his response. "My gut's been actin' up for weeks. First time it stopped was when I got in this car."

He watched the younger man's expression move through question, and even further surprise, and understanding, before finally relaxing into a more genuine, hopeful smile. "Then I'm glad I came, Boss."

Gibbs nodded, more to himself than to Tony as he found himself more centered than he had been since he could remember. Looking his former agent in the eye, said truthfully, "me, too. I'm glad you're here, Tony."


	3. Chapter 3

**HOME TRUTHS**

 _Gibbs suddenly grunted softly as it finally dawned on him. "Shoulda known," he said ruefully, watching Tony's surprise increase at his response. "My gut's been actin' up for weeks. First time it stopped was when I got in this car."_

 _He watched the younger man's expression move through question, and even further surprise, and understanding, before finally relaxing into a more genuine, hopeful smile. "Then I'm glad I came, Boss."_

 _Gibbs nodded, more to himself than to Tony as he found himself more centered than he had been since he could remember. Looking his former agent in the eye, said truthfully, "me, too. I'm glad you're here, Tony."_

 **THREE**

Gibbs considered his former SFA before continuing. "You look beat," he observed. "Just get in?" When he saw something akin to suspicion flicker Tony's eyes before he replied with a silent nod, Gibbs was again reminded of the way things had been in the months – in the _years_ – before Tony left. Any hope he'd had that maybe things hadn't been as bad as he feared was answered in DiNozzo's immediate distrust of his expressed concern. Gibbs wondered if he would have a chance to work toward making that right - or if that was even possible.

"How long ya staying?"

He watched as Tony shook off more of his lingering surprise at Gibbs' appearance, and glanced away with an awkward laugh. _He's embarrassed by coming here? Or by why he came?_ Gibbs wondered to himself. _He's unsure,_ Gibbs surmised. _Still finding his way with everything?_

"Uh – not sure, really. Came on an open ticket, so playing it by ear, I guess."

"Got some beer," Gibbs tipped his head toward his house. "We can order a pizza if you're hungry."

Tony hesitated, reminding Gibbs of the very early days, when he was still new to NCIS and to finding his footing with his new boss. "I gotta get back." The regret in his voice was genuine. "I left Tali with Senior. I think she was pretty conked out and should sleep through for a while yet, but with the time changes and one helluva long day, who knows? If she wakes up I don't want to be missing for too long."

 _Not fair to do that to a toddler whose Mom is gone,_ Gibbs knew he was thinking.

"You staying with Senior?"

"No - no, it wouldn't take long for his place to feel pretty small with a rambunctious two year old full of Christmas cookies and candy. We rented a condo near my old place."

Gibbs nodded again. "You okay to drive back? Not too sleepy?"

Tony seemed to color a bit under the unfamiliar concern. "Oh - yeah, I'm fine."

"Come back tomorrow - or, when you can. Bring Tali."

"You sure?" Tony asked, too tired for his filter to stop him. "Because ... when she was at NCIS, before ..." He trailed off.

"Yeah, I'm sure, DiNozzo." Gibbs felt the sting of another reminder of their last hours as partners. He'd overheard Abby and McGee discussing Gibbs' apparent disinterest in the child, and Tony's resulting belief that Gibbs was punishing him or Ziva or Tali – or all of them – for their flagrant disregard of Rule 12, even if it was after they'd all left NCIS. "I'm not proud of how I handled all that, Tony. Any of it. I owed you better. I owed _Tali_ better."

Tony stared ahead, out the windshield, thoughts turning on Gibbs' words. Listening – _hoping_ – but wary. He finally nodded. "Okay. Okay if we get some sleep, and get adjusted to the local time, and call about when?"

Gibbs shrugged, satisfied with DiNozzo's word. In all the time he'd known him, he never knew DiNozzo to not honor a commitment. "I got some time coming. Not much in the way of plans."

"'kay." Yet Tony didn't make a move to leave yet, and Gibbs sensed that had he not felt a responsibility to be nearby for Tali, should she wake soon, he'd have stayed to talk, exhaustion be damned.

"Why'd you come, Tony?" Gibbs asked suddenly, his voice still low so he wouldn't run the other man off before they could address things. "Beyond than the whole Christmas being _here_ thing?"

Tony finally broke through the daze that had seemed to hold him, a soft, rueful laugh at himself acknowledging Gibbs' insight. He glanced over at his former boss. He knew he'd been made, but there was no sense of derision coming from Gibbs for his being weak. He had been disappointed too many times in his life to fully believe yet, but his fatal flaw always had been that, deep down, he wanted to believe the people important to him, always gave them 'another chance' to show him the loyalty and support he showed others. At least this time, Tony figured, he wouldn't give it all away by caving at this brief moment of concern from Gibbs, as the answer was too complex and too involved to glibly bounce back with his too-easily given trust. Instead, he leaned back in the car seat, and tipped his head back against the headrest. "Too much here unfinished, I guess, Boss," he shrugged.

Without much thought, Gibbs reached up and gave Tony's neck a supportive squeeze, the rusty gesture familiar to them both. "Give me a call when you and Tali are more settled. Hell, bring Senior too, if you like." He was heartened to see Tony's tired but genuinely amused smile at that, and opened the car door so he could leave on a high note, before either of them stumbled into tougher territory. "Glad you're here, DiNozzo," he said again.

"Me too, Boss." Tony sat up straighter and started the car.

* * *

Hours later, Gibbs still worked in his basement, fashioning the toys he would deliver to the hospital in a couple days. All evening, since his brief conversation with DiNozzo, his thoughts had bounced between what he had seen and heard from Tony that evening, and his early days with DiNozzo when they were just a two man team, and all that had happened since then. There was no way he could change the past, but he was determined to think things through again, working to remember what had happened along the way, especially all those times Tony had tried to steer him off some path he was charging down, or to lighten the mood, or to tell him he was wrong about something. Tony wasn't perfect and sometimes he was off base, but his batting average was pretty good at knowing when the old man needed a check.

Gibbs thought about the way Tony stepped in – unless Gibbs was being more of an ass than usual about it, Tony would first try to slip in subtly, when no one else would hear or notice, or if the team was there, to interrupt the flow of his intensity casually, with an inappropriate reference or juvenile prank, something to make him pop off at his SFA with a head slap or barked correction.

Tony hadn't done as much of that in his last few years at NCIS; hadn't had the opportunity or the desired effect, Gibbs supposed. Gibbs thought back to how he used to acknowledge Tony's 'course corrections' - a cowboy steak and beer when a case was wrapped up, a joint Saturday afternoon at the range and a game on TV after. Gibbs stopped his carving for a moment to wonder when that had stopped, and why. He was bothered to realize he couldn't remember either.

Tony had been rattled by Ziva's presumed death, the changes in her on her return from Somalia; later, her thirst for revenge for her father's death had been hard on him given his deep desire to be there for her and support her, while he abhorred her willingness to act outside the law as Bodner's judge, jury and executioner. Gibbs knew that DiNozzo carried deep personal guilt for pretending to believe that Ziva would simply catch Bodner and take him into custody, when he had to know she would end it herself as soon as she was able.

Gibbs wondered again at the pair. _What a pair they were._ He was still in the camp who believed they could never live under the same roof in middle-class wedded bliss; he thought that Ziva had shown herself in recent years to be too wild and unpredictable for the man Tony was deep down – serious about what was right, what was wrong, a true upholder of the law. But oh, as partners and rivals and friends and, he assumed, lovers, what a pair.

But now they had a child, even they had not jointly cared for her - nor had Tony been offered that chance. But a child, from his last quest to find Ziva. How far back did their physical relationship go? Even now Gibbs fought the irritation that they might have flouted his rules while on his team and he wondered at that, at how much it bugged him that his people wouldn't toe the line.

 _More for Grace_ , he thought to himself, although he had let that slide of late. Maybe he should talk to her before talking with DiNozzo. He knew that this might be his only chance to point things with Tony back to right, and given his gut and his recent irritation with his current team in contrast to what had been, knew he would regret not making the effort. It might be worth the time to get someone's opinion. _Maybe Ducky_ , he decided. Ducky knew them both, was there through it all. He hoped his old friend might be willing to step in with his insights.

 _Never leave a man behind_ , Gunny, he reminded himself. _You did that with DiNozzo. And you'd better figure out just why you did while you have the chance._


	4. Chapter 4

**HOME TRUTHS**

 _Never leave a man behind_ , _Gunny,_ he reminded himself. _You did that with DiNozzo. And you'd better figure out just why you did while you have the chance._

 **FOUR**

Tony had spent so much of the summer running on auto-pilot that, leaving Gibbs' neighborhood, he efficiently called Fiorelli's for takeout, ran into a grocery on the way to pick up a couple days' worth of basics, picked up dinner and chatted for a few minutes with the effusive owner of his favorite neighborhood Italian comfort food, and pulled into a parking place outside of his temporary condo in less than an hour.

He couldn't really remember getting there. As he loaded up everything to go inside, his time-zone challenged brain still chewed over everything that had happened an hour before. The one impossible thing that had become emblematic for him of normal, of reliable and dependable, had actually just happened – he had shown up outside of Gibbs' house and just waited, mentally daring the man to just know he was there. _And damned if he didn't._

A younger Tony had taken all that on faith, that Gibbs was all seeing, all knowing; any sign of trouble, he just needed for Gibbs to show up and fix things. As time went on, things were less clear - he became older and events made him more cynical; Gibbs became ... what?

 _More of a bastard? Less sharp? More driven? More secretive? Any or all of the above?_

Tony still didn't know, exactly, but Gibbs wasn't the Gibbs he met in Baltimore or who took him in at NCIS. With all the other changes, though, Gibbs' gut still seemed to work when he wanted it to. With the last couple years, the knowledge that Gibbs had been pushing him away, and the feeling that Gibbs was probably relieved he was finally gone, DiNozzo also suspected, down deep, that this change was a sign less of Gibbs' problem with _him_ as Gibbs' problem with _Gibbs._ Who knew what it could be – something physically wrong, like an illness? Some lingering effects of a case that no one recognized as causing his changes? Recurrence of old memory issues with newer injuries? Any of those things combined with Gibbs getting a pass for so long, and getting away with his "my way or the highway" approach with damn near everyone now, that his slowly changing persona had slowly, over time, become the new normal? Was he the only one who had tried to make Gibbs aware that he had all the signs of having a problem, so he was the one on whom Gibbs focused all his ire?

Tony slammed the car door shut and paused for a moment, playing over events in his head yet again, still overwhelming in his exhaustion. _By God, he did it. Gibbs did it,_ he reminded himself. Gibbs had known that he was there, outside his house, when there was no reason for Gibbs to expect him to be. Not only that; from what Gibbs said, he'd known for some days that something wasn't right with his former SFA. The one thing that Tony held out for himself as proof that Gibbs was still Gibbs, that crazy, preternatural ability Gibbs had to just _know,_ was absolutely, perfectly proven to not only be true, but to still be intact.

The thought struck Tony like a ton of bricks. As crazy as he had been to conjure all that up as his test of reality, to mentally dare Gibbs to be superhuman – and then the guy fucking _did just that_ – maybe it wasn't so crazy. It was a leap of faith which used to not be a leap at all for him, believing Gibbs could just appear and save the day. That he was still alive, after all those years at NCIS, in some pretty dire situations, was a testament to faith well placed; that out of the blue, Gibbs knew to find him camped outside his house in a rental car, was proof that his faith was _still_ well placed, even after everything had gone wrong.

Tony drew a deep breath, blew it out. Dinner was getting cold, and he hadn't even allowed himself to remember the rest of the surprising evening.

He walked toward the door, promising himself to tuck away the rest for when he was more able to think logically and responsibly. His life had been full of promises made then broken, and he would not let the magic of the evening be tarnished with unfulfilled hopes. _But Gibbs was Gibbs just now_ , his battered thoughts taunted him. _He was patient. Concerned._ He said - twice - he was glad to have him here. _Gibbs admitted being wrong and practically apologized._ He invited him in and appeared to want to talk. _Gibbs_ , inviting conversation.

The signs were overwhelming. He definitely could not handle this until he'd had some sleep.

* * *

Tony opened the door into the condo, trying to slip in fairly quietly, but in the subdued lighting of the front room he saw his father put aside his newspaper to rise from his chair.

"How is she?" Tony asked, before any greetings were passed between them, as he headed to the kitchen with his purchases. "She wake up while I was gone?"

"No, she's been fine. Sleeping like a log," his father brushed aside his concerns as he trailed behind his son. "Takes after you that way, I guess." Tony glanced up at Senior, unable to completely hide his knee-jerk skepticism at the fatherly comment as he wondered if the older man had even thought to look in on Tali if she wasn't calling out. But Senior went on, "I checked a couple times to make sure she was settled, and she was fine. Sleeping peacefully."

Tony relaxed at that and, a bit sheepishly, tipped his head at his father as be paused briefly in his unpacking. "Thanks, Dad."

"Glad to have you both here." Senior shifted slightly as his expression crinkled into one of pleased curiosity. "And dinner certainly smells as good as you promised it would be. How have I missed this place so far?"

"Neighborhood hole in the wall a few blocks over in the less swanky part of the area. Easy to miss it." He loaded up his arms with some of the items he'd gotten from the grocery to put them in the refrigerator, sorting them into the appropriate drawers or shelves. Before he dealt with dinner or the other things, though, he pulled off his jacket to hang it on the back of a chair started toward the other room. "I'm gonna check on Tali. Or..." he paused, then decided, "actually, think I'll get her up for a while. Maybe she'll eat a bit of dinner while we eat. Otherwise she may stay six hours ahead of everyone else in town."

"Good thinking, Junior," Tony registered behind him as he quietly opened the door to the room where Tali slept and slipped inside, coming alongside the bed where she lay sleeping soundly. His features softening, Tony smiled softly and sat on the bed at her side.

"Hey, Tali-mae. Your grandpa and I are going to have some dinner in a minute. How about you? You hungry?" Tony didn't know if it made a difference or not, but since Tali had come into his life, especially the way she did, those times she wasn't awake when he needed her to be, he wanted to be sure not to startle or scare her – he had no idea why. It was a gut thing, and especially given the events of the past several hours, he wasn't going to question it now.

To his relief, she awoke the way she often did when he awakened her – a few moments to wake and settle into the present, a look up at her father, and a sunny smile. "Abba..." she murmured, still a bit sleepy.

"Tali..." he cooed back, as he usually did now, with his own wide smile. "C'mon. I'm hungry! I bet Grandpa is too." He gently pulled the covers back and waited to see if she would sit up or needed a bit if encouragement. She rolled up groggily, and Tony scooped her up the rest of the way. "Bunny!" she reached out, and Tony dipped them both so she could snag Kalef's now-preferred partner. With a buzz to her cheek, Tony carried her out into the main room.

"There she is!" Senior beamed. He really was seeming to enjoy his role as grandfather, Tony mused. Tali smiled sleepily and tucked her head shyly in Tony's neck, still waking. He headed toward the highchair in the corner – _that Dolores_ , he mused; _above and beyond_ – and, shifting Tali to one arm, pulled the chair up close so she could watch the preparations. He hoped it would spark her appetite as well. "The lasagna smells delicious, Junior." He had pulled containers out of the large white bag from the restaurant. "I take it the penne are for Miss Tali?" He looked to the child as she sat up in her high chair, the food piquing her interest.

"Yeah – and there should be a small sub of marinara for her, too." Tony went to the counter to grab a banana; he peeled it and quickly sliced it, then halved the slices. Putting them on a plate, he found a small bowl and put several of the penne in the bowl with a tiny bit of sauce. Disappearing for a moment, Tony came back into the kitchen and went to the plate with Tali's food, "Glad I thought to bring these," he smirked. He turned to put Tali's food in front of her, and Senior noted he'd brought child sized, plastic handled utensils that Tali picked up readily to start eating. As she did so, her father managed to slip a bib around her front and snap the velcro closure closed before any food could spill.

Tali settled, Tony unconsciously sighed and straightened. "Okay. Our turn," he smiled to his father. "You found everything else, too, salads & bread?"

"Right here," Senior nodded. "Don't suppose we have any wine to go along?"

"Sorry Dad - the little market where I stopped didn't have any, and it was getting later than I'd expected." Seeing his dad's sudden interest at the comment, Tony turned to find a serving utensil of some sort and grabbed it, with some plates, shrugging to cover, "the owners were there when I went in, and had a bunch of questions about where I'd been for so long. They're Italian; it took a while to get away." Tony tried a grin. It was the truth, just stretched a bit. He didn't know how it would sound to his father that practically the first thing he did upon landing in the US after so many months was to go stalk his estranged boss. He pulled back the lid on the lasagna that Senior had loosened, dished out good-sized portion, and handed Senior "Here - eat up."

"Thank you, son." Tony felt his father's assessment as he dished out a serving for himself and though he'd rather not be under anyone's examination until he'd gotten some sleep, he knew he could sidestep any concerns his dad might have. Senior's concern might be genuine but it was limited; he always had other things drawing his attention. And after years of undercover work and Gibbs' daily scrutiny, there was only one person he worried about seeing too far inside his head. "Sit, Junior; eat," his father added.

"Try to stop me. This is the longest I've gone without Fiorelli's since I moved here." His grin was enough to make Tali smile in return as he leaned over to put a couple small pieces of lettuce on her plate from his salad, but he sensed his father wasn't quite so easily distracted, even though he did see his father's appreciation with his first bite.

"Oh," the older DiNozzo moaned, "you're right. This really _is_ good."

"Told ya."

"And you – I'm proud of you, son." Senior paused, looking at the both of them fondly. "You're doing so well with Tali."

Despite himself, Tony was touched by the comment. "Thanks, Dad."

"I mean it. I know that ... so much was a sudden surprise. You managed it all better than most people could."

Tony snorted at that. "Not quite." _'Managing?' By running away? Chasing ghosts and spies and dead ends while trying to learn more than his rudimentary Hebrew and discovering what toddlers can and can't eat?_ "But thanks," he got himself back on track. "I was lucky to be able to take the time to sort things out, and get to know Tali."

Senior nodded, and to Tony's surprise not only saw through at least a layer of what had been going on with him, but was subtle in front of Tali. "I take it that you haven't heard much more than you knew when I was there in September."

Tony's eyes popped up to his father's, and saw confirmation there, so shook his head. He had told his dad then of his search for answers, the growing number of questions about the explosion and Ziva's "death," and his initial contacts with her friend and former co-worker in the hope of obtaining more. He really wasn't up for discussing all he'd learned since, but at least in the scheme of things, he didn't _know_ much more than he had – he'd just had a whole lot of suspicions confirmed. He shrugged tiredly, "super secret spy agencies are almost as bad as the IRS is for handing out info to civilians. At least her friend knows a lot more about things there and has a lot more inroads than I do, so for the most part I am just waiting to hear more from him."

Senior looked at him, apparently in some appraisal, then nodded his satisfaction. "Well, good. You could use a bit of a break from things. At least catch up on some sleep while you're here. You look tired, Junior."

Tony barely had the energy to frown defensively, "it's been a full few hours, Dad."

Senior raised his hand placatingly and soothed, "I know, and I just was going to say that I will be in town so that if you would like to have some time to really sleep, and not have to keep an ear out while you do – I am happy to spend some more quality time with my granddaughter."

As his father's last few words were spoken to Tali to engage her, Tony considered him, feeling a bit of guilt and appreciation rolled into one. As much as he wanted to sleep, he also knew he needed to get back to see Gibbs, to see if their troubled relationship could be patched. His dad watching Tali might come in handy for that, too. He sighed, smiling wearily, "thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

"How long will you be here? Are you going to be able to stay for a while?"

"The beauty of unemployment - no real schedule," the younger Tony said. "I want to see how well Tali takes to having been uprooted again. It may not be a big deal, but we'll see."

"Well. I'm glad you're here, for as long as you decide to stay. And I suspect your friends will be happy to see you, too, assuming you let them know you're here."

Tony just nodded. If his father suspected that his initial dash was more to go to Gibbs' place than to go get food, he didn't say, and Tony at this moment was too exhausted to care. The immediacy of dinner, Tali, and his dad had all worked to make his earlier meeting with Gibbs fade in intensity, but it was still in his thoughts, even leaving him hopeful. With yet another promise to himself not to jump to conclusions and commit his trust again too soon, he relaxed into dinner with his daughter and his father. _If he'd only imagined last Christmas just how different this year's Christmas would be..._


	5. Chapter 5

**HOME TRUTHS**

 _Tony just nodded. If his father suspected that his initial dash was more to go to Gibbs' place than to go get food, he didn't say, and Tony at this moment was too exhausted to care. The immediacy of dinner, Tali, and his dad had all worked to make his earlier meeting with Gibbs fade in intensity, but it was still in his thoughts, even leaving him hopeful. With yet another promise to himself not to jump to conclusions and commit his trust again too soon, he relaxed into dinner with his daughter and his father. If he'd only imagined last Christmas just how different this year's Christmas would be..._

 **FIVE**

December 23 was clear and bright, not a trace of snow. However, NCIS was shifting into holiday mode at noon this year, with several staffing handovers that, in recent years, the Director found to be more helpful for a smooth transition and a more efficient response, if needed, given the changing terror threats that had developed world wide. This year, the Director allowed himself a real holiday, and though he would be nearby in Vermont with his kids, Deputy Director Craig had the office until January 2 unless a crisis occurred. Gibbs' team was out until December 27, and would have point through the rest of the holiday. Vance put his foot down that Gibbs would _not_ be senior response lead during the 72 hour interim, but finally relented that he could be on call to Jerome as his Deputy saw fit.

To Gibbs' hidden disappointment, McGee didn't even volunteer for the on-call team. He reminded himself it was probably a lot healthier for Tim not to have done so, as this would be his first Christmas since he and Delilah were engaged. Despite his own father issues and his diligent, dedicated service to NCIS, the job had never filled as great a role in McGee's life as it had for Tony or himself. Maybe it was because McGee had always known that if, for whatever reason, he had to leave NCIS or law enforcement, he could be snapped up in any number of places – hell, his first paycheck could probably rival a year's pay at NCIS. Even so, Gibbs knew the difference between his past and present Senior Field Agents was more than that: Tim was committed to his service with the Agency and proud to serve his country as his father and grandfather had, but Tony had a need to be wanted, to be useful, and a part of things.

It was nearly 0800 by the time Gibbs had emerged from the Director's office, having caught up with Jerome as they waited for Leon to arrive and remind them _both_ that while he appreciated Gibbs' offer to be on hand, he was certain that his Deputy Director and the on-call agents could handle whatever came up. Coming along the walkway outside of MTAC, Gibbs slowed to look down on the bullpen where Bishop and McGee were at their desks, both working at their computers but engaged in quiet conversation about their upcoming Christmas plans. Torres had slunk off at the close of work yesterday after asking for the day, knowing today would be a short one and there wouldn't be all that much to be done. Quinn's coat was on her chair but she wasn't in sight.

 _It wasn't fair to suddenly compare McGee to DiNozzo at every turn_ , he knew. It wasn't fair to compare every other field agent to Tony in evaluating them, any more than it would be to judge everyone on his team by McGee's computer skills. He used to assess strengths and weaknesses, and take advantage of the skills each brought to his team, he mused.

 _Maybe you're just looking to fill the DiNozzo-shaped hole on the team, no matter how many times you've tried to tell everyone it's not an issue._

As he watched the pair of agents below, apparently oblivious to being watched, Gibbs filtered it all through his weeks of being unsettled since DiNozzo left, as well as the hours he'd spent since Tony appeared, practically on his doorstep. _Things change, Gunny_. Things always change, he reminded himself, but it was only the rare occasion when life provided a do-over. He decided that this time, this was important enough to give it some thought.

With a last, slightly disappointed sigh that both of his agents were too wrapped up in what they were doing to sense his several minutes of scrutiny, Gibbs moved away from the railing toward the elevator. Ducky should be in, helping Jimmy get set up for any call outs that might occur over the next week or so. Maybe his friend had a bit of time for him as well.

* * *

The familiar whoosh of the pneumatic doors brought up Ducky's attention up to autopsy's entry, and his familiar greeting. "Ah, Jethro. All set for the hand-off?" Ducky's deceptively mild gaze was close and curious.

"Looks like you are, too, Duck," Gibbs grunted. Autopsy was clean, void of bodies, and all equipment stowed.

"Yes, but unlike you, Jethro, I am not all that inclined to look for an excuse to run out and get in the middle of any call that happens along," the elderly doctor chided, knowing how the enforced "vacation" chafed his friend. He'd heard Gibbs' grumbles about it since Vance decided to change up things this year. "However, I too will be on standby, should my goddaughter need a visit with Granducky if her father – or mother, of course, given the nature of her employment as well – is called out to work, I have a go-bag packed and at the ready. " He smiled in amusement at his own words. "Happily, this go-bag has no need of a liver probe. Perhaps you could do the same with Almira," Ducky tried, gently offering yet another suggestion that might entice Gibbs to make use of his downtime. "She does enjoy your wilderness lessons. With such a mild winter, it may be a good time for another day out tracking in the woods."

' _Retirement lite' again?_ Gibbs thought, chafing a little at yet another of the doctor's increasingly pointed suggestions about what he could do when forced out of field work. Yet this time ... Gibbs looked at Ducky, suddenly struck by the thought that the man who had known him longer than anyone in his life also knew more about damn near _every_ thing than anyone else he knew. Maybe he ought to be listening more closely to what his friend had to offer. His first inclination had been to see Ducky about what _Tony_ needed. After his observations upstairs that morning, and his recent thoughts about the loss of his team as it had been, it occurred to Gibbs that _he_ probably could use some guidance too.

"You've been wrapping things up for a while now, getting ready to turn things over to Palmer," Gibbs observed, vaguely.

"Yes, I suppose I have." Ducky's expression was impressively neutral while his thoughts raced. Gibbs did not make small talk. And on the heels of his suggestion that Gibbs spend time with his own goddaughter, what with his friend being all but barred from working over Christmas – the doctor was on high alert for what might come next. He waited. Ducky knew that Gibbs would not speak readily if he could avoid it, so ... Ducky waited. Benignly. He knew Gibbs well enough to know that if the agent sought him out for conversation he would not leave without some resolution. The doctor was not disappointed.

"I always said that I would turn the team over to Tony when it was time, Ducky," Gibbs finally said, gazing off into his own thoughts. "t never occurred to me that he might not be here to take over."

Puzzled, Ducky hid his uncertainty where the discussion was going and sought to be encouraging, regardless of the path. "For many years, that was a completely reasonable assumption," he agreed.

"But I never planned for anything else." Gibbs was quiet for another moment, then added, "what we do, every day, there was no guarantee that Tony would want the lead. Or that, when I was ready to finally give it up, that he could take it." Again, a pause, and he admitted, "I just never made any other plans."

Ducky frowned lightly. "Are you thinking about stepping down yourself, Jethro?" When he had no immediate response, he urged, "is that what this is about?"

Gibbs grimaced slightly in frustration at the question. _More than you know, Ducky_ , he thought, _and more than I need right now._ "Duck..." he started, the tone of trying to get his medical examiner on the same path he was on familiar to them both. "When DiNozzo left..." He wavered, multiple questions arising then dying on his tongue, before he finally managed, "what did he need to hear from me to make things right between us again?"

No matter how much he had readied for an unusual talk, Ducky's stunned reaction showed through clearly. "What did he need to hear...?" he echoed in amazement.

"Come on, Ducky! I need to know. Are you telling me that you didn't see that whatever working relationship I had DiNozzo got sidetracked in the end?"

The elderly man considered his friend carefully before he drew a steadying breath. "No, Jethro, on the contrary," Ducky began softly, his very measured tones surprising Gibbs and leaving little question that the man was disturbed by the question. "Things ... have not been as they were for a while now." Before Gibbs could fully register Ducky's apparent reference to more than only DiNozzo's time on the team, he went on, "some of it certainly was the normal progression and growth of your team. Every time you moved on from the two man team you were between Vivian's leaving and Kate joining us, and each time you took on new people, the dynamic changed." Ducky looked closely at Gibbs, and asked, carefully, "you understand that the change in your relationship with Anthony began many years before now?"

"Duck, I didn't want a history lesson," Gibbs groaned, "I just..."

"But you bloody well need one, Jethro, especially if you think a handful magic words to Anthony will suddenly 'fix' what he needs – what he _deserves_ – to hear from you!" The Scotsman's eyes flashed suddenly with his frustration and anger. "If you honestly think it's only the last few months or even years that was a problem, well, my friend ..." Ducky took a breath, and steadied himself, reminding himself that if Jethro was finally ready to face this, ready to listen, then he must not squander the trust he'd placed in him to help him make up for lost time. "Then I believe you need to think again."

At least the Marine didn't storm out, but he pulled back, clearly not expecting the doctor's reaction. Seeing that he might have lost the opportunity to help his friends mend long neglected fences, the doctor took a steadying breath and tried again, in a calmer tone, "Why do you ask now, Jethro? What made you think of Anthony _now?_ "

The agent remained quiet for long moments, unmoving, but finally chose to speak instead of leaving his demons unconfronted. "He's here, Duck. In the District. He and Tali came back."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I did not see the recently aired "She," and don't know what is now canon for Ziva, but the parts of this chapter which touch on her were written a couple months ago, and any similarities or differences are sheer coincidence (sorry, Gibbs.)

And sorry this took even longer to post than the last. What I had written before became a monster chapter in "editing" and adding to Gibbs' portion, so it took a while to corral. Hope it makes up for the wait.

 **HOME TRUTHS**

 _At least the Marine didn't storm out, but he pulled back, clearly not expecting the doctor's reaction. Seeing that he might have lost the opportunity to help his friends mend long neglected fences, the doctor took a steadying breath and tried again, in a calmer tone, "Why do you ask now, Jethro? What made you think of Anthony now?"_

 _The agent remained quiet for long moments, unmoving, but finally chose to speak instead of leaving his demons unchallenged. "He's here, Duck. In the District. He and Tali came back."_

 **SIX**

Ducky was again surprised, but this time, cautiously hopeful. "For the holidays?" he asked.

"Indefinitely," Gibbs began, until he saw the look in the older man's eyes. "He's got return tickets," he added heavily, not willing to get his own hopes up. "Just no set date back yet."

"And ... he's called you?"

"Showed up at the house."

"Ah." Ducky watched his friend closely, waiting for more. He could see the man's thoughts churning, and when the wait got too long, prodded, slightly, "but ... you have not yet spoken?" The Marine's expression confirmed his guess, and this time the doctor waited him out.

"...no." Shifting uncomfortably, Gibbs corrected, "not much." After a moment, he added, frustration in his tone, "he was just sitting in his car, Duck, down the block. Dunno know if he would ever have come up to the house if I hadn't gone outside to see him." When his friend nodded in understanding, as if he would have expected Tony to do just that, Gibbs threw up his hands. "I can't tell what he wants, Ducky. I don't know if he wants to talk or not. Hell, I don't think _he_ knows." He paused again, recalling the brief meeting, and wondered how they'd gotten to this point. "He seemed ... wary. Of _me_ , Ducky! He said he was here because too many things felt unfinished, but he sure didn't seem like he was ready to do anything about it. I told him I'd been wrong when he left, that I owed him better, and he didn't react." He stopped again, his gut still turned sideways by the encounter. "He wasn't the DiNozzo I knew."

Ducky closed his eyes momentarily, weighing the wisdom of wading further into the complicated connection between the men, and, sensing there might not be another moment like this one, decided his course. "And who was that, Jethro?" he began, softly and cooly, "the young man you brought here from Baltimore? Or the man who blossomed into being your Senior Field agent, who helped train an earnest but too-green young probie and an overly-confident soldier into solid field agents, without the reminders they needed from you to respect Anthony's role and his authority in the chain of command? The man you left behind to lead your team and deal with the Director's personal vendetta, and then just as abruptly unseated when you'd decided it was time to return, without so much as an acknowledgment of his work in your absence? The man who pulled you and a young civilian from a submerged car which resulted from another of your lone wolf causes?"

As Gibbs' eyes darkened, his defenses rising from long habit, Ducky pressed even harder. "The man who walked away from the woman he loved, first because _you_ told him to, and then because _she_ did? Did you even _know_ that man, Jethro, or what the years under your lead have done to him? And most recently – did you even try to know the man who avenged the man behind your most grievous wounds to date, or to thank him for his loyalty, or did you simply decide to shun him in the most public way on your return, by assigning him to _de facto_ desk duty?" As Gibbs turned to stalk out of autopsy, Ducky's voice rang out behind him as the doctor drove his point home. "I dare say you may never have know the _real_ Anthony DiNozzo, despite his showing you the stuff of which he is made over and over and over again. I dare say that, like in so many unhappy endings, you had no idea what you had in loyalty and skill and support until Tony was gone."

Gibbs turned to throw back, "he knew that wasn't me. I didn't need to hold his hand. He knew how much I valued him."

"Which 'he' knew that?" Ducky crossed over to stand toe to toe with Gibbs, where he stood at the doorway. "The man you chained to his desk when you came back from medical leave, so there would be no question that you were back and capable of doing the job 100%? That was it, wasn't it, Jethro?" Mallard pressed, not willing to lose what might be the last opportunity to push his stubborn friend toward the truth. "You were afraid that if DiNozzo was in the field, working side by side with you, that everyone would assume _he_ was doing the work that you no longer could do. And after years of Anthony running interference for you, drawing your ire to protect the others on your team or to diffuse your frustrations and get the team back moving forward – I can see how you might fear just such an assumption.

"But the final blow came after years of Anthony's choosing, time after time, to remain with your team instead of accepting his own, instead of pursuing relationships, instead of staying in Israel with Ziva – all because he could not do any of those things and remain your 'faithful Saint Bernard.' All after years of doing so with only a rare word of appreciation from you, after being chronically undervalued by his teammates and by the Director, not in small part because that was the example you set – you came back from medical leave, and, without even recognizing his efforts in your behalf, cut him from your team, in his mind, as effectively as if you had him transferred.

"Never leave a man behind, Jethro. Has any Marine ever stood by you for as long and as faithfully as Tony did? Any Marine continue to endure your physical demonstrations of frustration or disapproval while he stood firm between you and the rest of the world, making excuses for your bluster or diffusing your anger? Any Marine stand by you as you consistently garnered admiration and accolades for your successes, while doing a good share of the work himself without recognition for it?" Ducky's eyes flashed with the anger he had held too long in check. "Yet some seven months ago you left Anthony behind when he could have used your unique understanding of his loss - only a few hours into mourning the unexpected finality of Ziva's loss, he is hit with the sudden and complicated news that not only is he a father, he fathered Ziva's child – whom she kept secret from him! Did you ever stop to consider the devastating impact all that would have had on _any_ one, especially Tony? Or was your only thought that it proved your suspicion that they _had_ broken your bloody Rule Number 12 after all?"

Gibbs said nothing but paled slightly in the Scotsman's ire, who at that point was too overcome to see it.

"Not one person here can say they understand the depth of your loss of all those years ago, Jethro, and ever since they learned of it, your team – your _friends_ – have helped you deal with it as best they knew how. But as a result, sadly, this team has become all about _you_ , and you have been allowed to charge though each day without thought or concern for those you are harming in the process. You've had a remarkable career, Jethro, and have done extraordinary good for your country and its people – but at what cost?" Ducky wavered, his long-held thoughts voiced, and he looked closely at his friend for a sign that his point had been made. Understanding that he might have to ask himself the same question – _his point may have been made, but at what cost?_ – he took one more weary breath. "So, finally, there is the answer to your question, Jethro – _nothing_ you can say in a mere sentence or two will set things right with Anthony, no matter what he might try to tell you. Nor should it."

* * *

Tony woke slowly, an unfamiliar feeling these past few months. Usually he slept in snatches and at some level of alert, a result of his still-developing parenting skills, occasional calls from distant time zones, and all around chronic and immediate stress. When the feeling of a full head and near-stiffness intruded as well, the sure signs he had hit a wall and finally slept much longer than usual, he woke with a start. Jumping out of bed in one swift move and looking around the momentarily unfamiliar room, he felt a moment of panic that Tali hadn't awakened by now and at least called out to him, if not come in to wake him. Before he made it to the closed door of his bedroom, however – _when had he closed it?_ – he heard voices that allowed his internal alarms to stand down from high alert: his daughter, clearly delighted even in her poor attempt at a stage whisper, and his father, talking away to his grandchild despite their not being quite on the same linguistic page yet.

 _And what was that – singing?_

Tony grabbed his watch from the dresser, checking it as he pulled the strap through the buckle. _Nearly 1000!_ He drew a breath and ran his hand through his hair, wondering how he'd managed to sleep at least twelve hours, if Tali had been okay while he was dead to the world. He couldn't remember when he crashed or if Senior had left before he did, so maybe his father had stayed over and had been there to catch any nightmares or early morning toddler activity. Tony sat heavily on the bed, giving himself just another moment to ground himself. He really hadn't thought much beyond getting to the District, once he'd gotten word back from Adam that they should be okay to return to the States, and it showed.

The former Mossad officer had been a lifeline to him as Tony struggled to make sense of Orli's actions and clearly incomplete information. He desperately needed to know the truth about the attack on the farmhouse, confirmation of Ziva's status, and, of greatest importance, any potential threats to Tali or even to himself, given their connection to the David family. Tony had never been one to turn over his responsibility for the safety and protection of others, especially those close to him, but this was way outside of his expertise: the threats were of such a different type, by those he didn't usually engage, in countries where he had few contacts or language skills, and against his family. He didn't even have creds in his own country anymore, and had not yet sought a civilian licence to carry. So while he was always on alert, using every trick and technique he'd ever known to keep his daughter safe, he found the wisdom to turn over the investigative and intel concerns to Ziva's former colleague and friend.

Ziva had trusted Adam Eishel; Tony would now, too. Adam had been stunned when Tony told him of Orli's sudden appearance with Tali in tow, and his grave promise to help Tony get answers raised even more questions and concerns for Tony. He had yet to know what had caused Adam's concern, or the Israeli's apparently shared distrust of Orli's version of events, but it had been slow going, and Tony hoped that maybe some day he would learn it all. For the moment, Tony was comforted to have Adam's assistance and his access to intel Tony could never hope to have. It let the new father focus, for the time being, on figuring out how to be a parent and to get to know the bundle of energy he and Ziva shared.

After a trip to the head and a splash of water on his face, Tony quietly opened his bedroom door and came silently down the hall, the sounds, and then the sights, of the living room allowing him to observe without interrupting for a few moments. Since he'd been to bed, Christmas had arrived, all lights and sparkle and amazement his daughter's face. Tony took it all in, a lump in his throat.

He had spent the last weeks agonizing over just this: it was most likely Tali's first Christmas, and certainly the first when she was old enough to do more than stare at the lights and activity around her. Living in Israel with a Jewish mother, Tali could not have been as steeped in Christmas as she would be here. Even since being with Tony, their little Paris neighborhood had much less flashy Christmas trappings than those Tali would encounter in the District.

The choice left him in a quandry. So what did he owe Tali? Or Ziva? Celebrate both holidays? Ignore Christmas and observe Hanukkah? Ignore Hanukkah and observe Christmas? Tony wanted to do what was right for his child but knew no one with those answers, and the dilemma felt bigger than just the question of which juice to buy or whether she was still too young for Disney movies. By the time they boarded the plane for the U.S., he was no closer to an answer.

But now he was, and, much like his gratitude to Adam for taking over one concern, Tony felt something like relief that, at least for now, for this year, Senior had made the decision for him. Ziva had always participated with joy in the little Christmas exchanges or parties at NCIS, so Tony thought that she would be okay with this, for Tali. Especially if she could see the wonder in her daughter's eyes...

"Abba!"

He'd been made. As Tali ran to him to be scooped up for a hug and morning raspberry, Senior looked over with his usual, 'hope you don't mind this particular over-the-top thing I did, Junior' expression to say simply, "morning, Junior."

"Abba, see!" Tali bounced in his arms as she pointed back the way she came and squirmed to be let down, grabbing his hand to run back to where Senior stood beside a modest, five foot tall Christmas tree, blinking merrily with little white lights and tiny toy-shaped ornaments. "Tinkle tinkle..." she started to sing.

Tony chuckled in helpless surrender, impressed with Tali's application of the song he'd sung to her when they saw stars pop out in the sky at dusk. Eyes misting that her mother missed this moment, Tony sang the rest of the song with Tali's limited help, then managed, "Christmas lights, Tali, twinkling on the Christmas tree. Grandpa brought you a tree?"

At Tali's vigorous nod, Senior shrugged, "I hope you don't mind, Junior - but the place needed a bit of holiday cheer. Any home that has a child in it should be decked out for Christmas."

"Thanks, Dad," Tony managed as he noticed a few more things with sincere appreciation - an ornate stocking, a few wrapped presents. "She's certainly taken with it. When did you do all this?" As his father explained, Tony only half listened, struck with his father's newfound paternal side. He didn't want his thoughts to go there, but at Senior's words of _home_ , wisps of memory came unbidden, a large but joyless house, which, after his mother's death, was less "home" and more a stop between semesters. Still ... he remembered, even after his mother was gone, that there would be a tree, decorated with her favorite ornaments and with twinkling lights and the tiny gold beads from her own mother. He swallowed the lump in his throat and kissed his daughter's cheek as she squirmed to be let down again.

As Tali ran back toward the tree and its festive ornaments, Junior came further into the room to bring his arms around Senior in a grateful hug. "Thanks, Dad. Merry Christmas..."

* * *

The men stood face to face, Ducky's words ringing in both their thoughts, and Ducky showing no sign that he thought he had gone too far or overstepped. But he did not turn to leave or say anything else. Understanding what was being offered, Gibbs finally spoke.

"Then what, Ducky? He may be here only a couple more days."

Gibbs was unreadable. But the doctor believed he was listening, and he had _asked_. Ducky would not let the moment pass. "As senior agent, you have always held more power than those on your team. Add to that your penchant for a set of absolute rules, and your demands things go your way or not at all – ostensibly wise, with the dangerous jobs you have, but also easier for you to bear, given the horrific loss of your wife and daughter. It guarantees that you have control over your agents' lives, which you did not have over your family. While likely your 'gut' was telling you to keep such a firm hand, not a conscious decision in those terms – you must have recognized that your demands were not always easy on the agents you were trying to protect.

"Over time, even though Anthony flourished as an agent and clearly had earned your trust, you still threw up your rules as a wall between him and yourself at times, or emphasized them as a reminder of your authority and your demand for unswerving loyalty. Timothy was lucky that none of the rules were particularly difficult for him to incorporate into his life here; Ziva was far less worried about their effect on her, first because her status as Mossad liaison provided her some ... _flexibility_ ... against the finality of your rules, and later as her training and her own mind set allowed her to deviate from _anyone's_ rules when she determined there was a need. It matters not that she followed your rules most of the time. The stress of living every moment under another's exacting rules was simply not as great for Ziva as it was for someone who understood them to be inviolate.

But Anthony? At all times, he has wanted to exceed your expectations and justify that early faith you showed in him. He is a man who spent his childhood in search of an authority figure to respect, and other than a few supportive coaches, was unfulfilled in that search. You offered him much to admire and he repaid that in his service and unflagging loyalty. Your inability or unwillingness to show him the same loyalty, and your actions over time which communicated the opposite, no matter why they were done, took a toll. Which particular action did more damage than another, or which hurt the most or longest – that is for Anthony to say. And as in all things, there may be things for which Tony owes you an apology or explanation. But for right now – the damage has been clearly more one sided. _That_ is what you need to address now if you wish to repair the friendship you once had.

The elderly doctor considered him closely, sensing that his words finally might have registered. " _Listen_ to him, Jethro. Ask him what he came here to address. Draw him out and let him talk – you know just how that's done with your witnesses, and you know Anthony well enough to know he can sense whether you are sincere in your interest or readiness to hear what he has to say. Do not interrupt or rationalize or deny or justify. it is not the time to raise your own grievances. If anything is to be salvaged, _you_ need to hear him and _he_ needs to know that what he says matters to you. He may not know what he needs now; he has probably not thought it through in those terms. He may want to revisit some of the past or he may not. But one thing I know you can do, and can do well, if you are so inclined, is to _listen_ – and I strongly advise you to do so now."

Gibbs stood in place for long moments, staring at the wall behind Ducky as he played the doctor's words over in his head, a haunted look replacing the anger and defensiveness there before. Finally, breaking his stare, he looked back to the doctor, an unreadable look on his face. "Thanks, Duck," he murmured as he moved to leave autopsy. He was not surprised that the doctor, uncharacteristically, did not call out to him to offer a few final words of support in parting.


End file.
